Post by captrig on Mar 30, 2015 5:25:00 GMT -5
There were 13 people in the little terminal in Brainerd, Minnesota waiting for the arrival of the Blue Goose. The weather was lousy, but coincidentally as related to us by our qualified company observer, somehow right at minimums and of course it was snowing. The captain and I were both on reserve which meant we were each new to our relative positions on the airplane. He had the added benefit of some time in the right seat before upgrading. I was a new hire with 4 months of experience, on the dreaded probation. Say the wrong thing to the right person, or the right thing to the wrong person and you're outta there at the end of your first year's donated time to the airline. The captain didn't especially like me. The feeling was mutual. That would intensify rapidly. What happened to flight "449?" There would be no way to explain it. Just one of those mysteries in aviation that is never solved. The only clue on the voice recorder would be the words "Max Power!"
Unknown to the lucky 13, we were inbound from Hibbing and points west on the return portion of the most rugged trip on the airline: 16 stops in one day. Those 16 usually boiled down to a smaller number due to the typical marginal weather along the route in wintertime Minnesota. I was flying. I had just enough time after missing the approach at Hibbing to pull out and study the approach plate for runway 16, set up my radio's, brief the approach before calling for flaps 17, gear down-landing check and begin our final descent. They say the busiest guy in the sky is a co-pilot on a Convair 580. Some say it's the same job on a C-46. They are both like flying a fully loaded dump truck...until you learn how.
The fuselage was howling... more of a low moan from the rime ice accumulating on the nose and large antenna on top of the fuselage just above the cockpit. I glanced at my overhead confirming that the airframe anti-ice button was pushed in and the prop anti-ice lights were twinkling and of course the windshield heat that was always on. You could fry tortillas on the leading edge now...no worries about wing or propeller icing in that beast. Turning onto final from the DME ARC, I called for flaps 24 then quickly flaps 28. You would have to do this to understand just how fast things happen in that airplane. The pilot not flying makes a set of standard verbal "calls" on an approach that vary depending on the weather and the type of approach being flown. With the IN RANGE approach complete, all systems powered electrically, hydraulically or pneumatically, both pilots radio's tuned and identified the first one was: "One thousand feet." The calls are for the benefit of the CVR, the Cockpit Voice Recorder and the accident investigation teams, if necessary. At 500' AGL I called for flaps 40. They would hear a firm metallic "click" and "flaps 40" in the captains voice. My mouth was dry and there really was icy sweat running down my back, but we were on course and approaching minimums - all was as well as it was going to get. As I recall it was smooth as a Prom Queen's Thigh even with the stiff headwind we had. A quick glance outside revealed only heavy snow screaming by us at 128 knots. It didn't look soft. Concentrating on my FD 108 Flight Director, i heard: "Two hundred above minimums." I was listening for "GROUND CONTACT!" That would be the first sign we might make the approach followed by "RUNWAY TWELVE O'CLOCK!" But that isn't what I heard: MINIMUMS! Neither of us could see anything but white; there was no choice. While shoving the power levers for the huge Alison 501-D13's forward, and pressing the GA button on my yoke that would put the flight director V bars in the proper go-around attitude, I called out "MAX POWER, FLAPS 15"! Again the "click" and "flaps 15!" from the captain, then "Positive rate" and I said "gear up!" Sound of gear in transit, captain says "Gear up!" Then on my No. 1 VHF and through my moulded ear piece I heard "449 missed approach." There followed the usual legaleeze from ATC and a clearance for the approach to 34 as requested.
The captain ordered that I prepare for the back course approach to the reciprocal runway, 34 in this case and advised ATC of our acceptance to the clearance. I climbed straight ahead, fished out the approach plate for 34, glanced at my empty coffee cup -reference the cotton mouth- noting half of it's content spilled into my flight bag as usual. No time for that now. I was fully aware that this was the big time, my chance of a life time and there was absolutely no room what so ever for error. I briefed for the back course approach to 34, circling to land on runway 16, tuned my radios, and left my CDI on the inbound heading for the southerly approach. This would be a back-course to 34; the sensing on the CDI is reversed. I asked the captain to identify my radios, and he did. Following the procedure turn I called again for the step by step configuring of the airplane from cruise to landing. With about a 30 knot tailwind, I tracked the back course to 34 nicely. At 600 feet I heard "GROUND CONTACT" but a quick look out front told me that we'd be right back in it again...this was a "sucker hole" and I was not a sucker. Instantly we were back flying solid IFR and if things went fast before that was nothing to what it was like with 30 knots added to our approach speed. I told myself not to fret, that the big iron is like that all the time and I'd better get used to it. "Minimums" and once again we missed the approach. But this time as we crossed center field we got good ground contact right over the intersection of the two runways and the windsock that was standing straight out and easy to see with all that snow surrounding it. The captain ordered the dreaded NDB to runway 5, circle to land 16 and requested the clearance. "Yes'sir!" I turned to my flight bag that is parked parallel to my right leg, on the -yes- flight deck. Maintaining an 8 degree deck angle, climbing out on course at 1,500 FPM & 170 knots with one's head in his flight bag is no easy trick. It involves shooting sideways glances first at the instruments, then into the flight bag and repeating the process, but I did it. I flipped through my Jepp manual for that plate. Not there! I looked again. Then I looked a few pages prior and after BRD for it, but it wasn't there! Oh sh-.
I straightened up, made sure I was flying the proper course for the miss and informed the captain that I did not have that approach plate. All he said was, "OK, I'll shoot it - I have the airplane" He spun his heading bug for an 80-260 procedure turn." I repeated as per procedure, "Roger, you have the airplane." I then turned back to my flight bag to make one more attempt to find that plate! This could mean my job! At about that time I sensed something that caused me to straighten back up and look at the panel. The captain was in HIS flight bag looking for the approach plate that had been a "remove" on the last revision. There was no approach plate to find! As he straightened up at nearly the same time I did my heart did not stop, it accelerated to red line! We were inverted in a sixty degree bank, 400 feet above the ground, descending at a rapidly increasing high rate of speed at climb power! Now here is where you can't imagine it getting worse. The captain FIREWALLED the engines. Already approaching red line and aimed nicely at the ground what we did not need was more power! He shouted "MAX POWER" The red T.I.T. lights were already illuminated. He had Max Power! But I repeated it anyway. "Max Power!"
I don't know how many G's we pulled on that maneuver, but substantially more than I have ever felt in an airliner. He grabbed his mike and said "449 Missed Approach, request clearance to Minneapolis." I didn't know what to think. I did know that in addition to the cotton mouth there were all sorts of other biological's going on. Aside from the throaty HMMMMM from the Alison's, it was as quiet as the morgue in the cockpit. Later the flight attendant said the passengers never said a word and sat upright frozen in place for the rest of the trip. The captain sat straight up in his chair without a sound for a long time. He made a PA to the passengers about the unexpected turbulence. I wondered how that would fly? Then he turned to me and said...a little differently: "QUIT FOOLING AROUND WITH THE AUTOPILOT!"
I said, "Brad - it wasn't on the autopilot." I hadn't used the auto pilot all day and he knew it. He flew it all the time using the autopilot, and I should have known that. When he spun his heading bug we were already in a left turn. He apparently assumed the airplane was following the auto pilot and went about looking for his approach plate. With no one minding the store, the airplane continued to turn while trimmed for a climb. And it kept turning and climbing into a roll that pointed the airplane right at the ground.
So there you are. When you transfer control from one pilot to another in the airplane or in the simulator, brief the other pilot thoroughly even though you THINK he knows what's going on. He might not.
And that is what nearly happened to flight 449 of the fine little airline that has been absorbed, bought out, merged and merged and merged again and into a huge airline in which that briefing has become standard procedure.
In the wee hours from Rio Nuevo
Captrig NWA (Ret.)
Unknown to the lucky 13, we were inbound from Hibbing and points west on the return portion of the most rugged trip on the airline: 16 stops in one day. Those 16 usually boiled down to a smaller number due to the typical marginal weather along the route in wintertime Minnesota. I was flying. I had just enough time after missing the approach at Hibbing to pull out and study the approach plate for runway 16, set up my radio's, brief the approach before calling for flaps 17, gear down-landing check and begin our final descent. They say the busiest guy in the sky is a co-pilot on a Convair 580. Some say it's the same job on a C-46. They are both like flying a fully loaded dump truck...until you learn how.
The fuselage was howling... more of a low moan from the rime ice accumulating on the nose and large antenna on top of the fuselage just above the cockpit. I glanced at my overhead confirming that the airframe anti-ice button was pushed in and the prop anti-ice lights were twinkling and of course the windshield heat that was always on. You could fry tortillas on the leading edge now...no worries about wing or propeller icing in that beast. Turning onto final from the DME ARC, I called for flaps 24 then quickly flaps 28. You would have to do this to understand just how fast things happen in that airplane. The pilot not flying makes a set of standard verbal "calls" on an approach that vary depending on the weather and the type of approach being flown. With the IN RANGE approach complete, all systems powered electrically, hydraulically or pneumatically, both pilots radio's tuned and identified the first one was: "One thousand feet." The calls are for the benefit of the CVR, the Cockpit Voice Recorder and the accident investigation teams, if necessary. At 500' AGL I called for flaps 40. They would hear a firm metallic "click" and "flaps 40" in the captains voice. My mouth was dry and there really was icy sweat running down my back, but we were on course and approaching minimums - all was as well as it was going to get. As I recall it was smooth as a Prom Queen's Thigh even with the stiff headwind we had. A quick glance outside revealed only heavy snow screaming by us at 128 knots. It didn't look soft. Concentrating on my FD 108 Flight Director, i heard: "Two hundred above minimums." I was listening for "GROUND CONTACT!" That would be the first sign we might make the approach followed by "RUNWAY TWELVE O'CLOCK!" But that isn't what I heard: MINIMUMS! Neither of us could see anything but white; there was no choice. While shoving the power levers for the huge Alison 501-D13's forward, and pressing the GA button on my yoke that would put the flight director V bars in the proper go-around attitude, I called out "MAX POWER, FLAPS 15"! Again the "click" and "flaps 15!" from the captain, then "Positive rate" and I said "gear up!" Sound of gear in transit, captain says "Gear up!" Then on my No. 1 VHF and through my moulded ear piece I heard "449 missed approach." There followed the usual legaleeze from ATC and a clearance for the approach to 34 as requested.
The captain ordered that I prepare for the back course approach to the reciprocal runway, 34 in this case and advised ATC of our acceptance to the clearance. I climbed straight ahead, fished out the approach plate for 34, glanced at my empty coffee cup -reference the cotton mouth- noting half of it's content spilled into my flight bag as usual. No time for that now. I was fully aware that this was the big time, my chance of a life time and there was absolutely no room what so ever for error. I briefed for the back course approach to 34, circling to land on runway 16, tuned my radios, and left my CDI on the inbound heading for the southerly approach. This would be a back-course to 34; the sensing on the CDI is reversed. I asked the captain to identify my radios, and he did. Following the procedure turn I called again for the step by step configuring of the airplane from cruise to landing. With about a 30 knot tailwind, I tracked the back course to 34 nicely. At 600 feet I heard "GROUND CONTACT" but a quick look out front told me that we'd be right back in it again...this was a "sucker hole" and I was not a sucker. Instantly we were back flying solid IFR and if things went fast before that was nothing to what it was like with 30 knots added to our approach speed. I told myself not to fret, that the big iron is like that all the time and I'd better get used to it. "Minimums" and once again we missed the approach. But this time as we crossed center field we got good ground contact right over the intersection of the two runways and the windsock that was standing straight out and easy to see with all that snow surrounding it. The captain ordered the dreaded NDB to runway 5, circle to land 16 and requested the clearance. "Yes'sir!" I turned to my flight bag that is parked parallel to my right leg, on the -yes- flight deck. Maintaining an 8 degree deck angle, climbing out on course at 1,500 FPM & 170 knots with one's head in his flight bag is no easy trick. It involves shooting sideways glances first at the instruments, then into the flight bag and repeating the process, but I did it. I flipped through my Jepp manual for that plate. Not there! I looked again. Then I looked a few pages prior and after BRD for it, but it wasn't there! Oh sh-.
I straightened up, made sure I was flying the proper course for the miss and informed the captain that I did not have that approach plate. All he said was, "OK, I'll shoot it - I have the airplane" He spun his heading bug for an 80-260 procedure turn." I repeated as per procedure, "Roger, you have the airplane." I then turned back to my flight bag to make one more attempt to find that plate! This could mean my job! At about that time I sensed something that caused me to straighten back up and look at the panel. The captain was in HIS flight bag looking for the approach plate that had been a "remove" on the last revision. There was no approach plate to find! As he straightened up at nearly the same time I did my heart did not stop, it accelerated to red line! We were inverted in a sixty degree bank, 400 feet above the ground, descending at a rapidly increasing high rate of speed at climb power! Now here is where you can't imagine it getting worse. The captain FIREWALLED the engines. Already approaching red line and aimed nicely at the ground what we did not need was more power! He shouted "MAX POWER" The red T.I.T. lights were already illuminated. He had Max Power! But I repeated it anyway. "Max Power!"
I don't know how many G's we pulled on that maneuver, but substantially more than I have ever felt in an airliner. He grabbed his mike and said "449 Missed Approach, request clearance to Minneapolis." I didn't know what to think. I did know that in addition to the cotton mouth there were all sorts of other biological's going on. Aside from the throaty HMMMMM from the Alison's, it was as quiet as the morgue in the cockpit. Later the flight attendant said the passengers never said a word and sat upright frozen in place for the rest of the trip. The captain sat straight up in his chair without a sound for a long time. He made a PA to the passengers about the unexpected turbulence. I wondered how that would fly? Then he turned to me and said...a little differently: "QUIT FOOLING AROUND WITH THE AUTOPILOT!"
I said, "Brad - it wasn't on the autopilot." I hadn't used the auto pilot all day and he knew it. He flew it all the time using the autopilot, and I should have known that. When he spun his heading bug we were already in a left turn. He apparently assumed the airplane was following the auto pilot and went about looking for his approach plate. With no one minding the store, the airplane continued to turn while trimmed for a climb. And it kept turning and climbing into a roll that pointed the airplane right at the ground.
So there you are. When you transfer control from one pilot to another in the airplane or in the simulator, brief the other pilot thoroughly even though you THINK he knows what's going on. He might not.
And that is what nearly happened to flight 449 of the fine little airline that has been absorbed, bought out, merged and merged and merged again and into a huge airline in which that briefing has become standard procedure.
In the wee hours from Rio Nuevo
Captrig NWA (Ret.)
