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Posted By:
Hal Brown
Date Posted:
Sep 8, 2008
Description:
“There comes a time when it is only prudent to try another plan. This looks like a good time to do something different.”
“But the coast is clear!”
“Does the coast look clear to you?”
“Well, it does look a little brighter, doesn’t it?”
“Not really. Turn around now and by the time you get back to Seattle it will probably have cleared up at the pass.”
“That means I will have flown for a couple of hours to get nowhere.”
“Confusion say, ‘Better to be nowhere in one piece than everywhere in many!’”
“Okay, fine, but let’s keep going for just a few more minutes….”
Date Taken:
Sep 8, 2008
Place Taken:
Between Sekiu and Neal Bay, WA
Owner:
Dan Nickens
File Name:
16_Time_to_Turn.jpg - Photo HTML
Full size - <img src="/show.php?splash=SZTDB0000h">
Medium - <img src="/show.php?splash=SZTDB0000m">
Thumbnail - <img src="/show.php?splash=SZTDB0000s">
Category:
329, Taking Peli Home
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Click on photo to view the original size. |
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Read what others had to say:
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Gary Johnson - Sep 08,2008
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What was that? I think the engine just burped...
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Dan Nickens - Sep 08,2008
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Engine burbs are bad, but puking is prohibited. If the engine did puke, you'd have to consider the trees, but I'm thinking the foggy water is softer.
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Don Maxwell - Sep 09,2008
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Aw, Gary. What have you done?!
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Dan Nickens - Sep 09,2008
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Well, Gary, I don’t know how you heard about this tale, but now that you’ve mentioned it, I suppose I’ll have to confess.<br /><br />It is true. I had flown Peli right into a potentially prickly situation. Peli must not have wanted to go back home, because the engine sputtered. The sputtering caused the whole airframe to tremble. Or maybe it was just me. Potential had turned to prickly reality without notice.<br /><br />A few moments slipped past while I denied that Peli would do something like this to me. It made me mad to be betrayed this early in the flight. As soon as I got mad, I turned the slowing, sinking sputtering ship back towards the Sikeu airport.<br /><br />As I turned around I checked the engine instruments. Nothing seemed out of place. As an afterthought I turned on the auxiliary fuel pump. It made no difference.<br /><br />The stumbling never got worse, it just suddenly quit. When the engine actually quit, there was a moment of absolute calm. The jerking airplane went smoothly and eerily quiet.<br /><br />There was now no worry about the engine quitting. There was no worry about trying to make it back to the airport. There was no worry about whether to make an emergency call. The unthinkable event had happened and decisions were now made.<br /><br />As practiced many times, I pushed the nose down to set up the airplane for its best glide speed. I thought about trying for an engine restart, but quickly dismissed that as too late in the game. The airplane was settling towards the fog at 600 feet per minute. From 600 feet above the fog, it was easy to estimate how much time was left.<br /><br />As with any emergency, the time available was must greater than in normal life. The adrenaline accelerated pulse produced a relative time easily double that of the clock.<br /><br />I selected an area ahead that would keep me clear of where I estimated the shoreline to be. It was just a guess. I hoped the fog didn’t extend far up the steep shoreline. I turned just a bit further out when I remembered some of the big rocks lying just off the shore.<br /><br />The radio was already tuned to the emergency frequency. All I had to do was press the button and confess. I hesitated a fraction of a second thinking of all the paperwork that I would have to fill out. Then I quickly concluded being rescued to fill out the paperwork would be a good outcome.<br /><br />“Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! N104SR is descending for an emergency landing in the Strait west of Sikeu.” Hmmmm…I thought…am I pronouncing that right, “Sick-E-U”? “Sigh-Ku?”<br /><br />No one answered so I suppose it didn’t matter. What mattered was that the silky white top of the fog was now reaching out to pull me in. I quickly gave up on the radio and focused on flying.<br /><br />The airplane had no artificial horizon. I knew I’d have to work to keep the wings level by interpreting the airspeed indicator, the turn and bank indicator, the compass and the altimeter. All of that had been easily done in instrument practice, but the reality of having to do for real was a bit unnerving.<br /><br />“Don’t worry,” I told myself, “you’ll only have to do it for a few seconds. How hard could that be?”<br /><br />Using all available senses would help, I decided. I pulled off the headset so I could hear the wind as we fell.<br /><br />As the beautiful white fluff got close enough to touch, I gave into deep desire to stay away. I pulled on flaps. There was only the briefest of respite before Peli continued rapidly into the fog.<br /><br />Emersion into the fog was as if the world has suddenly collapsed. The grand, expansive view suddenly stopped at the windscreen.<br /><br />All my efforts now were focused on keeping the needles in their proper position. A glance at the altimeter showed I was passing through 200’. “Only 20 seconds to splashdown,” I counseled myself.<br /><br />A glance at the windscreen showed there was no hope of seeing what was ahead. I had to quickly return to the instruments as the GPS map showed me beginning a turn into the Strait.<br /><br />At one hundred feet the same quick glance showed the same nothingness. “If I don’t see the water there is going to be one heck of a splash,” I told myself. That’s when the thought of the waves struck me.<br /><br />The long Pacific swells had been perpendicular to the shore. I quickly made the decision to turn away from the shore to parallel their crests.<br /><br />The sound of the wind changed. “Not too quick! You’ll lose control,” I reminded myself.<br /><br />A quick glance up showed nothing but gray, cold cloud. That’s when I remembered that the view straight downward would be through less of the cloud.<br /><br />“Water! I see water!” I yelled aloud.<br /><br />The diversion had caused the airplane to turn more quickly. I had to immediately focus on the instruments and get it straightened out.<br /><br />As Peli fell to within feet of the surface, I could finally see wave crests just ahead. “Geez Louise! They sure are bigger down here than they looked up there!”<br /><br />There was no time to worry about that. I had just enough time to flare the airplane as a crest passed by.<br /><br />I held the airplane in a nose high attitude for what seemed to be a ridiculous amount of time. As I held it, the crest moved off to the right.<br /><br />When the airplane quit flying, it dropped between the waves with a resounding splash. Water flooded over the canopy and through the open window. I saw the left float bury itself deeply into an on-coming crest.<br /><br />With just a few oscillations, Peli came up to rest. We were upright and the wings were slowly rocking with the waves. There was absolute quiet only disturbed by the gentle splashing of the floats as the waves passed by.<br /><br />I was content to marvel at the peacefulness of the scene for a few minutes. Peli slowly turned to the east and into the light wind. I could feel the tug on the elevator as the waves passed from the back to the front.<br /><br />“How cool is this!” I thought. “Peli isn’t even dinged!”<br /><br />The exhilaration didn’t last. I could see from the GPS that I was well out from the shore. “Now what? I suppose I could start paddling.”<br /><br />That seemed to be a dubious plan. The shoreline was more than a mile away.<br /><br />That realization was scary. I was out in the shipping channel! Reflexively I looked back behind the seaplane expecting to see a huge freighter bearing down. “Whew! Nothing but fog.”<br /><br />I wanted to get out of the channel a lot quicker than paddling would work. I decided I’d try to start the engine again. The master was still on, so all I had to do was use the key to engage the starter.<br /><br />The starter ground away but the engine gave no indication of life. After a few attempts I gave up on that idea.<br /><br />“Maybe I can see what is wrong,” I decided. Fully opening the canopy, I stood on the side rails and pulled myself up holding on to the wing. It was a really precarious perch and the passing waves soaked my shoes.<br /><br />Looking carefully at the engine I could see nothing obviously amiss. I thought about crawling up over the wing to get a closer look. That idea was rejected for the moment because I knew it was likely to bend something on a still intact airplane for a small hope. I dropped back into the seat.<br /><br />“Now what?”<br /><br />Water swirling around my feet in the cockpit answered that question. I turned on the bilge pump and closed the canopies against the splashing of the waves.<br /><br />Watching the water recede from the floor I noticed my orange emergency signaling device. “Aha! The Spot alarm works for boats too!”<br /><br />Activating the Spot Personal Locater Beacon was as simple as pressing a button labeled “911.” The flashing green light assured me that it was indeed signaling the satellites a request for emergency aid.<br /><br />I settled back into the seat to wait. It just didn’t seem like I was doing enough. My “Push Button for Rescue” plan wasn’t nearly as immediately gratifying as I had hoped.<br /><br />That’s when I realized the master switch was still on. I went to turn it off, then thought I should turn the radio off first.<br /><br />I stared at the radio for a moment. “Of course! Don’t turn it off, check it out.”<br /><br />Fumbling around I finally located the headset in the next seat. I put it on and checked the frequency. It was still on 121.5.<br /><br />I hesitated “What do I say? This isn’t really a dire emergency is it? I mean, it’s not life or death. I can swim.”<br /><br />I settled on something less dramatic. Something I’d always wanted to try. “Pan! Pan! Pan! N104SR seaplane disabled in the Strait.” It sounded really hokey to say “pan” in real life.<br /><br />“N104SR, are you the aircraft that broadcast an emergency distress call?”<br /><br />That was a quick response. “Uhmmm, yes. That was me.”<br /><br />“What is your emergency?”<br /><br />“I’ve had an engine failure and landed in the Strait.”<br /><br />“Are there any injuries? How many souls on board?”<br /><br />“No, I’m fine. I’m the only one on board. The airplane is fine too, but we’re in the fog out in the Strait.”<br /><br />“Roger. This is a Coast Guard helicopter out of Port Angeles. Can you tell me your position?”<br /><br />“Standby.” I fumbled with the GPS to bring up the position page. “The GPS shows North 48.36538, West 124.39962.”<br /><br />“N104SR, we are about 5 miles east of your position. Maintain radio contact while we attempt to locate you.”<br /><br />In a very short time I could hear a chopper overhead. “I can’t see you, but I hear you,” I called.<br /><br />“Roger. We don’t have you in sight due to the fog. Are you in any danger of sinking at this time?”<br /><br />The bilge was dry. “Negative.”<br /><br />“Do you have emergency floatation equipment for yourself?”<br /><br />“Roger. I have a PFD and an EPIRB. I have activated the Personal Locator Beacon.”<br /><br />“Okay, that’s great. Standby while we redirect ship traffic.”<br /><br />Redirect ship traffic? That sent a tremble through my body.<br /><br />“N104SR, be advised that a cutter from Port Angeles is enroute to your position. Estimated time of arrival is approximately 45 minutes.”<br /><br />“I’m not going anywhere.”<br /><br />“Roger. Neither are we. We’ll maintain position. Contact us if your situation changes.”<br /><br />It was a long forty five minutes rocking away on the water. The helicopter called and warned me of the approaching cutter. The fog had begun to dissipate and I spotted the cutter 200’ away as it idled closer.<br /><br />When the large craft got near, I was hailed, “Seaplane N104SR, can you hear me?”<br /><br />Heck, he was only 25’ feet away. I yelled back that I could hear him just fine.<br /><br />“Are you prepared to abandon your craft?”<br /><br />“What? Abandon the seaplane? I don’t think so.”<br /><br />“We’ll send a raft over to get you.”<br /><br />It didn’t sound as if there was room for discussion. The little rubber raft was lowered off the back deck and ferried me to cutter.<br /><br />After verifying I was okay, I asked the ensign about Peli.<br /><br />“There are commercial salvage operators out of Port Angeles. One is already on its way. We’ll be taking you back to shore.”<br /><br />“A commercial salvage operation?” I cringed. “Just wait until Peter & Paula hear this tale. I wonder if the salvage guys take Master Card.”<br /><br />Don’t leave home without it, especially in a SeaRey.<br /><br />
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